


Into the Lives of Others

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accidental spell sends Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy where they least expect to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Lives of Others

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/profile)[**hds_beltane**](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/). [](http://silyara.livejournal.com/profile)[**silyara**](http://silyara.livejournal.com/) asked for a Draco-centric fic; the rest of their request can be found [here](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/28670.html?thread=376574#t376574). My deepest thanks to Ash-chan and Nessa for pushing me and beta-reading.

_All that we send into the lives of others, comes back into our own._  
-Edwin Markham.

* * *

Draco entered the nearly empty Common room and hurled his leather bag into a dark corner.

"Do be careful, child," one of the skulls on the walls reprimanded him and ground its teeth when Draco made a very rude gesture with both hands. "Well! I never!"

"Never again, that's for sure," Draco told it snidely and the skull went through another round of teeth-gnashing. Blaise, who was reclining in a wide rococo chaise, laughed softly as he turned the pages of his hefty book.

"Problems? Oh, let me guess: Professor Potter is making your life miserable by being civil and fair to you. Oh, the humanity." A rustle of pages as Blaise flipped another page. Draco made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and stalked over to where Blaise was resting in his usual indolent manner, snatching the book out of his hands and pitching it in the same corner as his bag. Blaise's slanted eyes glittered at him as Draco shoved him about, making space to curl up against his side.

"We're in the Common Room," Blaise reminded him. "Some tiny first year is going to wander in and see you all cuddled up against me, and have their whole little hetero-normative principles turned upside down."

"I don't care," Draco grumbled. "And you shouldn't either. _Your_ mission is to stroke my hair, like Pansy used to. I may feel better and not decide to share this load of misery." He poked Blaise in the ribs and lay there frowning even as Blaise capitulated and he felt his hair shifting through adept fingers. He felt more like a petulant child than a nineteen-year-old Wizard who was finally getting around to completing his last year at Hogwarts. While Potter and his little gang had managed to continue their education right after that horrific battle, taking their lessons in a hastily repaired Hogwarts, he and his parents had faced the Wizengamot in endless trials. His mother's actions (his _mother_ ; Draco could hardly get over that one, even now) had kept them out of Azkaban, but their lives were still closely monitored. Draco and his father were required to wear a charmed anklet, a light circle of metal that detected any trace of Dark magic. The anklet was also quite resistant to tampering; Gregory Goyle had found _that_ out the hard way and was now sporting a bronze left leg for his troubles.

Now, due to the fact that his mother had insisted that Draco complete his education properly ("I doubt those Carrows taught anything _useful_ ,"), and Potter had agreed to lecture a year of Magical Defense before his Auror training, Draco found that his life could not possibly be any worse. He seemed to have the extreme misfortune of seeing Potter every day, even though the git only taught the lower years. It was a very lucky thing Blaise had come back, to do the final year with him.

He sighed as Blaise's fingers continued their soothing massage in his hair. "Now, all you have to do is talk in a loud, screeching voice and it'll be like Pansy never left."

"You miss her?" Blaise asked incredulously, but there was a tinge of understanding in his words.

"I miss _Slytherin_." Draco pushed his head a little closer to that agreeable touch. "Pansy's gotten herself married off to some Italian business-wizard, Bulstrode's married too, although who would get into bed with _her_ , I don't even know, just goes to show you that there's no accounting for taste, not at all-- " here he paused for breath, inhaling deeply as Blaise's chest shook with laughter under his ear. "And nearly everyone else has defected to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or some liberal little college in America. Now we're all tame little Slytherins, just the way Potter and the Peacemaker Patrol wants it." Draco struggled out of Blaise's arms, as if Blaise was the one holding him down. " _Potter_ ," he snarled, just for snarling's sake, yanking at the long wide sleeves of his robes and adjusting the tie. It wasn't a proper Slytherin tie, but a nasty amalgamation of all the house colours, signifying an 'eighth year' student. "Living his perfect little life."

Blaise rolled his eyes and searched around for his book. "Wouldn’t people say that Potter deserves everything he has now? As do you?"

Draco whirled, staring down at Blaise with wide-eyed betrayal. "You're just saying that to be contrary. I was _under duress_ , Blaise. I thought you read the papers. Maybe you would recall that a madman was threatening the lives of my family?"

"Hmm, I _do_ seem to remember that... and also that you weren't exactly in disagreement with said Dark Lord before."

Draco's glare could melt icebergs. Blaise simply ran his tongue quickly over his upper lip and concentrated on his reading again.

"At least, Zabini, I _chose_ a side to stand on. Unlike certain people, I fought for _something_."

"What was it?" Blaise's eyes snapped to his, mocking and knowing all at the same time. Draco sneered at him and Blaise tilted his head. "What was it, Draco?"

"The wrong side, apparently," Draco told him in glacial tones and sailed off to his room, making sure he heard Blaise's laughing rumble which indicated that his friend was trying to coax him back out, before he slammed his door.

* * *

Draco's life had some sort of structure, which he followed grimly. As the Potions' Aide, he brewed healing potions for the infirmary, checked stock and assisted in the classes that were large now, due to the fact some parents had withheld their children out of fear. He had very nearly refused taking the Potions' Aide post when Headmistress McGonagall had coolly offered it, but an extended session with Snape's portrait had changed his mind about that.

Every Friday, Draco had his weekly Ministry regulated interview. Actually, that wasn't so bad. This Friday's Ministry official nervously checked his anklet after Draco had propped his foot up on a table in an empty classroom, and had asked him the standard questions:

"Have you had any contact with any known Wizarding gang?"

"No."

"Have you had any contact with illegal imports, Wizarding or Non-wizarding?"

"No."

"Have you had any contact with drugs, Wizarding or Non-wizarding?"

"Are cigarettes drugs? No? Pity. In that case, no."

"Have you been in communication with any other remaining Death Eater?"

"Yes."

The Ministry official's rabbity face had twitched at him and Draco gave him a tight smile; he liked having this one do the interview. "I spoke to my father last week."

"Let me re-phrase," the Ministry Rabbit said timidly, jumping when Draco dropped his booted foot back on the ground. "Have you contacted, or have been contacted by any Death Eater not under Ministry supervision at this time?"

"I may have had one conversation with a portrait of my Aunt Bella's…" Draco mused, staring up into the ceiling. He returned his gaze to the official's face, blinking innocently. "Ah, you meant _alive_."

"Yes." The Ministry Rabbit enunciated very slowly, his face flushed: "Any other _alive_ Death Eater _not_ currently serving monitored probation as you are."

"No, that would be _against_ my _probation_ ," Draco had said, just as slowly and twice as dry before demanding a light for his cigarette. After successfully upsetting the Rabbit, he exited the classroom and promptly bumped into Potter, who held him by the shoulders and blinked at his face.

"No smoking in the corridors, Malfoy," Potter had told him, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Unless you can spare me one."

Draco shrugged off Potter's warm hands and glared at him. He reached inside the inner-pocket of his robe with jerky movements, pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his own before flicking it at Potter.

"Here's to helping you continue your deadly vice," Draco observed with a sneer as Potter caught it out of the air and took a long drag, blowing the smoke to the side of his mouth. "I'll wager your adoring fans don't know you have this nasty little habit already."

Potter had looked at him from hooded eyes, smoke curling out of his nostrils this time. "There's a lot people don't know about me, Malfoy. Thanks for the cigarette." He brushed close to Draco as he walked away; Draco turned and stared at his back with narrowed eyes.

After that weird Potter-encounter, Draco had gone down to the dungeons. He had located a slumbering Blaise and had dragged him to Hogsmeade to have a stiff drink in some dark corner.

He never arrived to get his drink, and just for that Draco cursed his blasted luck; and Potter's too, for that matter.

He and Blaise had been trying to enter the Hog's Head; Potter and his simpering Patrol were exiting. There was a flurry of arms and legs and robes, and Draco was trying to stomp on Potter's foot while making it look like an accident, when there was a burbling, hoarse cry from the street and everyone had gone still for just a moment.

"What the--" Potter had said, craning his head to peer over Draco's shoulder. One of his hands had been gripping Draco around the left forearm, his palm hot against the deadened Mark underneath Draco's sleeve; he moved his hand up to shove at Draco, right in the chest.

"Don't shove me, Potter," Draco hissed and gave Potter a quick return push. Blaise groaned.

"Don't stand in the bloody doorway, then," Potter snapped back, eyes bright. His breath smelled of the alcohol and Draco wrinkled his nose. "Malfoy, stop stepping on my foot! And someone might be in trouble out there, _could you get out of my fucking way_?"

"Language, Potter, _language_ , there might be some of your precious students about," Draco muttered, and struggled forward some more as Potter pressed back against him, chest to hip, shoving like a player in that American Muggle feetball game. Potter grunted and Granger was yelling something in both their ears. "Can't you dial down the Hero-ness? Just a tad?"

"You turn down the arseholery first," Potter said childishly and his eyes widened as Draco stubbornly forced himself forward again, body moulding into Potter's. Draco was just now realising that they were sort of doing a abnormal dance in the entry of a seedy pub, while Granger and The Weaslette were threatening Draco and cajoling Potter in shrill succession; Blaise was behind him trying not to die of laughter. Potter's scent was warm and very male, his shorter frame fitting almost perfectly into Draco's. Potter shifted against him, and both their eyes widened as they each realised that the other was hard. Merlin's hairy balls, that was _Potter's cock_ nestling against his through the layers of robes and trousers, and almost maliciously, Draco writhed a little against him, pressing even closer. Potter made a choked sound, grabbing onto Draco's arms as if he couldn't decide whether to shove Draco away or pull him closer; and the most exciting thing about it was Potter's friends were standing _right there_ , yelling and not noticing that he and Potter were up to something, something utterly crazy.

And some crazy hag was _still_ in the streets, making that strange warbling sound that was neither laughing nor crying.

The warbling began to resolve itself into words just as Draco tried to entangle himself more in Potter's overly warm body. Potter hissed, one leg thrust between Draco's thighs. "Boy... my _boy_! You! He died! Murdered! Because of _you_!"

"What in Salazar's name is that woman--" Draco started to say when something hit him right in the back of the head; whatever it was seemed to travel through his skull like a jackhammer and pour out of his eyes and mouth at roughly the speed of sound. He heard his own voice raised in pained terror, and it was joined by another. That other voice seemed to weave into his own for a solid second, before they unbraided again. Curiously, Draco had the strangest impression: that, for a moment, he was looking into his own face, the grey eyes wide open in shock. He watched as those eyes rolled up in an ashen face, and everything went dark.

* * *

Draco opened his eyes and groaned. Everything was blurry and overly bright at the same time; he felt _wrong_. He felt as if he'd been held face-down in a vat of Ogden's; his brain was trying to curl up and die.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned and tried to turn over on his side; the movement set him to heaving, and for a moment he thought he would empty his stomach of the imaginary Ogden's. "Oh, no more. No more."

He returned to his spread-eagled position on the soft surface he was on, keeping his eyes tightly closed. After a few moments, the world seemed to cease its giddy turns, and Draco squinted his eyes open again.

"Garrrrghhh," was all he managed this time as he staggered out of the bed. He still felt extremely wrong; that must have been some major spell that old screaming witch had hit him with and he simply had to see the damage wrought. He chanced a look around, spotting a reflective surface on a wall. A mirror, he ascertained, but it was a guess, because his vision was still supremely terrible.

"This is just perfect," he muttered to himself as he staggered towards the mirror. "Absolutely perfect, and you know who's fault it is? Why do you even ask! Potter!"

As soon as he said that, Potter suddenly loomed right in front of him, peering like an ancient owl. Draco jumped back, and cursed this hasty move, for it set his head to tearing apart again. "Damn you, Potter! Don't jump around like a Billywig-in-a-box, you idiot."

Potter's mouth had been moving as Draco was talking, and this incensed Draco to no end. How _dare_ that speccy shit mock him as he was speaking! Draco opened his mouth to berate him further, and Potter opened _his_ mouth too; suddenly, a hand slid over his lips, cutting off any speech, and frankly, most of his breathing. He struggled mightily, and noted with widening eyes that Potter had a pale hand clamped over his mouth as well. Standing behind Potter was someone obviously Polyjuiced as Draco Malfoy, because Draco was standing right over _here_.

The Draco behind Potter looked absolutely terrible, his features grey and pinched; his hair was awry, his mouth a tight line in his face.

"Who are you!" Draco demanded, grappling with the hand over his face. "You over there! Stop using my body, you're making it look awful!"

The Draco behind Potter bent close to Potter's messy head and at the exact same time, the person behind Draco whispered right into his ear.

"You're in _my_ body, you idiot. You're looking at your own reflection. Or mine, as it were."

Well, damn and blast. Draco tore the hand from his face and spun around, wincing at the renewed throb in his head. He looked down at himself, and stifled a horrified shriek of terror. He was dressed in scruffy jeans and a jumper with a frayed hem, trainers pulled on his feet. Tentatively, he raised a hand to his head, and instead of encountering the smooth fall of his hair, he touched an unruly tangle.

"Merlin save me," he whispered and swayed, bemusedly watching the world fade around him. Instantly, he was slapped across the face and the world came back abruptly; he blinked in shock before the pain caught up, and he winced, touching his face tentatively. Potter, for it was _him_ ruining Draco's wonderful body, folded his arms across his chest and glared.

Draco slapped him back. Just on principle, even though it hurt him so to see that red hand-print bloom on the pale skin.

"Alright, so we're square," Potter said tiredly, placing a hand over the abused cheek. "Now that we've gotten the physical abuse out of the way, tell me what you did so we can change it back."

"I didn't do _anything_ , you fool," Draco said witheringly. "What, do you think I actually _wanted_ to be trapped in this caricature of a body?"

"I wouldn't put it past you." Potter looked down at him closely, and backed away to sit on a nearby bed. He sat in the middle of it and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and sighing.

"Don't sit like that," Draco commanded. "You'll give me bad posture."

Potter slumped into himself even more and Draco gritted his teeth, squinting in desperation. "Potter. Your vision is atrocious."

"Yes, which is the reason I wear glasses. They're on that table over there."

Draco grumbled underneath his breath and stumbled over to the table, sweeping his hand over the surface and grabbing up the glasses that he encountered.

"Oh, much better." Draco adjusted the round frames and looked around; his headache seemed to be dissipating. Potter grumbled underneath his breath. "What was that? Speak up. My tongue was trained by the best of speech therapists, put it to better use than that."

"What?" Potter blinked at him and Draco decided that the lost and confused expression on his own face made him seem sweet and vulnerable. He made a note to try it out when he returned to his own body. "I... I was just saying that it must have been the spell that old lady threw at us." Potter rest his chin on his drawn-up knees again and heaved a sigh. "She said her son died because of me."

Draco snorted and poked at the glasses on his nose. "Really, Potter. Not everything is about you. Remember me? She was obviously aiming for awful former Death Eater."

Potter's eyes flashed. Actually, they were Draco's eyes, and Draco was suddenly irritated at Potter for flashing them so well. "Trust me, I've met worst Death Eaters than you, Malfoy. She was aiming for me. I didn't do enough to help her son."

Draco was quite ready to launch into a heated argument as to whom deserved hexing more, but the curtain that separated their two beds from the rest of the infirmary was suddenly ripped to one side, and the Weaslette rushed towards him, throwing her arms around his arms and peppering his face with wet kisses.

"Oh, _eww_ ," Draco said, trying to fend her off. The Weaslette hugged him closer; she was either frightfully strong, or Potter was as scrawny as he looked, for he couldn't manage to peel her off at all.

"Oh, Harry!" The Weaslette exclaimed. "We were so worried about you!"

"Are you alright, mate?" The Weasel, who was supposed to be in some Auror training programme, was by his side just as quickly, his massive hand resting on Draco's shoulder, which nearly broke under the weight. "Gave us quite a scare, there."

"He'll be fine." Granger touched her hand to his forehead and Draco was so overwhelmed by red hair and bushy hair and freckles that he could hardly find the strength to flinch away. "He's so _prone_ , but Madam Pomfrey says he's alright. Did you know she had a drawer of potions with your name on it, Harry?"

"He's not me," Potter said, just at the exact moment that Draco said, "I'm not him." But then his mind began to turn itself over in delightfully dastardly mental cartwheels.

"Er. Of _course_ I'm not you, Malfoy," Draco said mildly and Potter opened those grey eyes wide. "You must have hit your head very hard, or something."

"Pardon?" Potter stared at him, then shook his head. "Guys, listen to me: _I'm_ Harry."

  
"Malfoy, just stop," Draco sighed. He put his arm around the Weaslette and pulled her close to him, grinning at the incredulous look he received. "I'm tired and hungry and would like to lie down in my bed. So stop mucking about, alright?"

Potter gaped at him. Draco smirked.

"I've never seen you smirk before," the Weasel mused, peering into Draco's face; Draco hurriedly tried to appear Potter-like, but the Weasel favoured him with a massive grin. "No, no, you should smirk more. I actually prescribe smirking as a once-daily activity."

"Ron," Potter said in a tight voice. "He's lying, he's--"

"Shut _up_ , Malfoy." Weasley cut Potter a disgusted look. "And where do you get off, calling me by my first name?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Blaise was lounging at the curtained entrance, although Draco could not figure out how he appeared to be lounging indolently when there was nothing to lounge on. "Draco. Are you alright?"

"He's fine," Draco put in cheerfully. "Maybe you should take him back to the dungeons. And tuck him into bed. In the meantime, I'll be off! Doing Gryffindor-like things."

"Why, you--" Potter lunged at him, and Blaise caught him around the waist very neatly, hauling him back. From this angle, Blaise looked very adept at that. Weasley stood in front of Draco protectively, hands on his hips.

"Just keep him under control, Zabini," Draco said in a stern voice as he peeped over Weasley's shoulder. "I wouldn't want him being Death Eatery all over the place. Make sure he checks in his anklet regularly. Let's be off, my pride of lions!"

Blaise's face was a study in contemplation as he looked closely at Potter. Draco threw a quick look back as he left the infirmary under Madame Pomfrey's sharp gaze and spotted Blaise talking quickly with Potter, who was running both hands through the neat blond hair in agitation. Blaise caught Draco's cheerful grin, and his wry expression had a tinge of amusement.

"I thought you said you were being nicer to Malfoy," Granger said to him as they made their way across the castle, towards the Gryffindor towers. "He did seem a little strange back there, didn't he?"

"I _did not_ promise to be nice to him." Draco sniffed in amazement. "Did I?"

"You _did_ , Harry, you're not that forgetful." She stared at him with shrewd brown eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? I can't believe that spell went right through Malfoy and hit you too, it was so strange."

"The woman is under Ministry supervision, Harry, so you don't have to feel bad about it," Weasley informed him. "They're going to transfer her to St. Mungo's, she's gone mental from grief."

"A lot of people have," the Girl Weasley said, her arm still slung around Draco's waist; Draco tried to pull away surreptitiously, but her hold was akin to that of the Giant Squid's. Her eyes danced up at him. "It's not your fault, alright? Just remember that."

"Of course it isn't." Draco huffed as they seemed to climb close to a millions steps. "Good lord, Granger. You and P-- You and _I_ , we're assistant professors for this year, why the blast didn't we take rooms close to the ground floor? The air, it's getting thin. I'm dying."

Girl Weasley swatted him on the arm with a laugh and Draco stifled a wince. Apparently, her current stint with the Harpies was developing her arm-muscles at an alarming rate. "Don't be silly, Harry, you're the one who said you'd like to stay somewhere near the tower. Even though it's not much for privacy when I come for a visit," she finished in a low, seductive murmur. Draco leaned away.

"Yes, well," he said, feeling unsettled at the proximity of all that red hair.

"Here we are." Granger had stopped quite a distance along the tall, narrow corridor from the Gryffindor dorms and Draco stumbled against her. "Harry, this is us. Did you forget?"

They were standing in front of a large tapestry, a golden Chinese dragon coiled on a blazing red background. Granger cleared her throat, and the dragon's woven eyes blinked slowly.

"Good day, Tian," Granger said politely. " _Welsh Green_."

Tian the Tapestry Dragon yawned luxuriously and nodded. The tapestry developed a dark line in the middle, and then parted in two, each side sliding away to reveal a round door with the handle set right in the middle of it. Granger opened the door, and they stepped into a large, comfortable room, a large fireplace on their left, a set of couches and armchairs placed haphazardly in front of it. To the right, a long table was straining under the weight of a pile of books and parchment, while a bookshelf moved guiltily back to its place beside the table.

"It's not all red and gold, fancy that." Draco stared at the large, cheerful, round space. There was a series of narrow windows and an archway leading to what was presumably bedrooms and a bath. A narrow staircase led to an upper level, where a balcony hung over the main room; another closed door could be seen from where they were standing; conveniently, that door had a poster on it displaying the Holyhead Harpies zooming about; obviously, that was Potter's room. Draco pursed his lips. "How disappointing."

"You're amusing today," Girl Weasley said with a large smile. "You should get hexed and hit your head more often, you're more fun that way."

Weasley stretched up his long arms and then let one wrap around Granger's shoulders as he brought them back down, yawning in an obvious manner. "I'm kind of knackered. This old codger we have for Self Defence, he had us out training at the crack of a sparrow's fart this morning. So... Herm, maybe I need to rest in your bed a bit before I head back to Training." He dropped a sly wink, and Granger blushed. Draco fought down bile.

"Well! I too need to get some rest, I've been half-killed and all-potion'ed out, the usual." He crossed the room quickly and dashed up the stairs, gleefully anticipating whatever he might find, and destroy, in Potter's room. When he arrived at the top of the staircase, he turned to look down at them, blinking at surprise at the Girl Weasley, who had tripped up behind him. "Where do you think you're going?"

Girl Weasley looked put out. "I just want to check if you'll be alright." She was standing a few steps beneath him and climbed up those slowly, tucking a blazing red lock of hair behind her ear. Draco watched in rising dismay as she fluttered her eyelashes at him; Granger and Weasley were chuckling as they retreated into her room.

"Harry," Girl Weasley wheedled. "We've been so busy lately, we haven't been spending a lot of time with each other."

"Maybe it's because you're the _definition_ of a harpy," Draco muttered.

"Pardon?"

"I'm _tired_!" Draco exclaimed, retreating quickly to Potter's door and hoping it wasn't locked securely with a key-spell. Where did Potter keep his wand, anyway? He patted his hip and felt a rush of relief at the feel of the slim wand in the long pocket. "I just want to be by myself for awhile. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes, if your girlfriend hasn't seen you in _weeks_." Girl Weasley looked furious and sad at the same time; Draco was unaware that the two expressions could reside so comfortably together on one face. She sighed, and then shrugged. "Alright, Harry. Have it your way. I _want_ to spend more time with you, but you're always teaching or giving some speech or some other activity. It's like your life isn't your own. Remember when we did our final year together, last year? I think that was the best time of my life. I mean, we haven't even been out to a _club_ or something--"

"We can go out tomorrow," Draco cut in quickly. He loved to go to clubs, and it would be a perfect opportunity to embarrass Potter. "We can go out and you'll buy me drinks with all your Quidditch money."

Girl Weasley's eyes had lit up. Without warning, she flung herself at Draco and kissed him deeply, apparently mistaking his flailing for passion. She pulled back, grinning at him.

"That'll be great, Harry. We'll have a blast, you'll see." She kissed him again, using _tongue_ this time; Draco's cries of dismay were muffled completely. She released him and ran back down the stairs, waving at him as she went out the door. Draco gagged, and staggered to Potter's door, thanking Merlin that it opened to his touch. Inside Potter's room was preternaturally clean, the bed spread so tight that he could bounce a Knut off it. It was almost completely bare, with only the bed with a bedside cabinet and a wardrobe. Potter had a wonderful view of the Quidditch pitch, though, the bright moonlight streaming through tall windows.

Draco flopped onto the bed, and allowed himself a slow grin. No checking with the Ministry Rabbit; no nasty looks from the other students. He was Potter for now, and the whole world was at his feet.

* * *

"Harry!" Granger chirped from the table as he stumbled out onto the balcony and peered out; he groaned after a moment, stumbling back for the blasted glasses and staggered back out. "Ah, there you are again, you grumpy bear. How do you feel this morning?"

"Actually," Draco said as he stretched. "I feel _quite_ amazing."

It was true. He wasn't sure if it was Potter's magic or his own, but he felt it singing along his veins, bright and cheerful.

"Great!" Granger looked relieved. "I was almost sure we would have to cancel all your bookings today, but we can probably do them all!" She opened a leather-bound book, and tapped it with her wand; the book shuddered, and then opened. Its pages folded out again and again, until there was huge square of parchment filling the surface of the desk, displaying a single page of the calendar, with the current month on it; each day had its own large box, with animated drawings inside. To Draco's mounting horror, today, _Saturday_ , was filled from top to bottom with little excitable sketches.

"Alright, at nine, you've got a visit to the Thunder Blunder stores with Charlie, promoting the hazards of rearing mini-dragons as pets... then at ten-thirty, there's the Warhammer Meeting, that's not so bad, you say those old mages always make you laugh... oh, oh, this is the big one, the speech at the Wizarding Commons. We'll have to sit through a couple hours of presentation, but that's alright. Then a stop at the Orphanarium." Granger peered up at him. "Sounds like a fairly light day!"

Draco gaped down at her. "A _fairly_ light day? It's Saturday! Normal wizards don't work on Saturday!"

"You're not a normal wizard," Granger pointed out, scribbling in the nearest Sunday box of the calendar. "You're Harry Potter." She turned her face up to him and grinned again; Draco threw a book down at her out of sheer mulishness.

Granger laughed as she caught it clumsily and put it aside. "You always carp about this! And then do your duty admirably. You'll be fine."

"I certainly will not do any duty!" Draco dashed back to the bedroom, cackling all the way. The door slammed in his face and he kicked at it. Granger was laughing again, that frizzy-haired demon-woman.

"You always try to pull something to get out of it," she chuckled. "Now, let's get ready."

* * *

The day... was horrifying. Everywhere he turned, someone wanted to shake his hand or have him kiss a small, bawling child. He had bodyguards, two large Aurors that did nothing much but stand to one side and give him nervous looks. Draco kept trying to sneak off, but people kept finding him.

The worse part of it all was the speech at the Wizarding Commons. The large green field as packed with people chattering and eating all sorts of food, children shrieking as they were on the broom-rides in a little fenced-off area to the left. Draco stood behind the podium and stared at the massive crowd. Apparently, it was Harry Potter Day.

"I thought last month was Harry Potter Day," Draco griped, gazing at the sheaf of parchment that was thrust into his hands by Granger. He turned them over, trying to decipher the handwriting.

"Three _months_ ago, it was Baby Potter Day," Granger said, taking back the parchment and turning it before handing it over again. It was just as incomprehensible as before. "Today is Harry Potter Day. As an adult, I suppose."

"Aren't you tired of all this?" Draco complained as he was literally dragged around to the side of the stage. The bodyguards saluted and Draco gave them a withering sneer; they probably couldn't bodyguard their way out of a paper bag. "All this adulation, all the damned time?!" Mercy, he _never_ thought he would have said something like that.

"We've been over this before, Harry," Granger said loudly, nodding as the Master of Ceremonies made an excited introduction, and the crowd cheered. "And it's just something you have to do, alright? There we are, your turn."

In a second, Draco found himself at the podium in front of what seemed to be thousands of eyes, magical folk waving and cheering. He blinked out at the colourful crowd as it fell silent, and he glanced one more time at Potter's terrible handwriting, before he set them down and grasped the podium with what he hoped was an heroic glint in his eye. He might have glinted a bit too much, for the front row backed away a bit, eying him warily.

"Look, you've all heard the speeches before, right? Those who died, those who fought, the Side of Light. But today... today I'm going to talk to you about the so-called Dark Side."

The crowd murmured in confusion.

"So some of them were unmitigated evil! Yes, yes, we can be sure of that. Some of them were blind followers, right, we get that too. Some of them were spies who didn't tell you what the blast was going on and you had to find out through word of mouth long after that they were braver than they looked. You had those types of people too, don't you forget."

The crowd was in a state of shock, but Draco mustered on.

"And then you had those who did what they had to do, no matter how stupid or dangerous it was. Because they had to. Because their families needed them to. If your family depended on you to save them, what would _you_ have done? And, on top of that, if there wasn't a Dark Side for the Light to fight against, then you wouldn't have all these heroics to cheer about. So there you have it."

The silence was deafening; Draco spotted Blaise standing to one side with his arms folded and his forehead wrinkled in that particular manner which indicated that he was about to fall into peals of laughter. There was someone tall and hooded beside Blaise, their arms folded as well; Draco watched in suspicion as this person removed their very familiar pale hands from inside their sleeves... and began to clap.

A smattering of applause started up, but finished quickly. Draco nodded and staggered off the stage, slapping away Granger's reaching hands. He stared at where Blaise and Potter had been standing, but they had disappeared into the milling crowd.

"That was... unusual," Granger muttered, squinting at him. "Usually you just read under your breath and run off. Very, er, inspiring."

"Give them something to think about," Draco snapped. "Let's be home now, I need a nap."

A nap, to Draco's dismay, was simply out of the question for the next six hours, and when he finally found himself swaying in the private quarters he shared with Granger, he groaned at the Weaslette's carefully made-up face shining up at him from the sofa.

"You promised," she said darkly, and waved her wand at him as Granger escaped to her room. Gryffindors; weren't they supposed to stick with one another in the face of adversity? "We're going out."

"But--"

"You _promised_ , Harry!" she cried; Draco made a face, and then slunk towards the bathroom, grumbling with every step. He pulled open his robes, tossing them to one side as he stood near the large bath; for some reason, he had not taken a good look at Potter's body before now. He had taken a rapid shower that morning, which had been completely negated by a dragon covering him with soot at the Thunder Blunder. He peered down Potter's flat stomach, and tilted his head.

"Hmm." How surprising. Potter was _much_ larger than Draco thought he would be; he ran a hand down his chest, through coarse dark hair around and below his navel, and curled his hand around the thick, warm cock. He made a soft moan as it pulsed and hardened against his palm, and he leaned against the face-basin, moving his palm in quick strokes. Potter's body was incredibly sensitive, nipples puckering in the chill of the bathroom as Draco twisted and pulled, feeling a quick orgasm gather low in his stomach, stampeding out of him so hard it made him a little lightheaded. Well, well. Underneath Potter's scratchy woolen robes lay such a responsive body.

Draco grinned to himself most fiendishly as he soaked in his bath, steepling his fingers and plotting with all his dark little heart. Never mind that all his plotting never did him any good; Draco liked plotting, anyway.

* * *

Draco descended down the stairs and gave the Weaslette and Granger a toothy smile as their eyes went wide in their head. He had transfigured some of Potter's clothing into leather: tight trousers that seemed as if they were painted on, and a barely-fastened black leather vest was all he had on top. He had his hair slicked back; he had completely underestimated the strength of Potter's magic, and on the first try of the styling spell, had caused the wild dark hair to be plastered down on his head like a shiny helmet. He had to cancel the spell, and do it over very gently.

Weaslette's jaw was unhinged as Draco strode over to her and winked. Granger's pot of ink had turned over on the papers she was marking, and her own mouth was wide open as well.

"Harry," she croaked and then cleared her throat. "Harry, where did you get _eyeliner_ from? And how did you manage to put it on?"

Draco tut-tutted. "Come, now. A simple kohl spell is sufficient. And before you ask me if I have on mascara, yes. I had to practically comb out my eyelashes, they were all thick and clumpy like a bush, but I got the job done. Are we ready? Where are you taking me to?"

"Uh." Weaslette blinked at him. "The Blue Fairy."

"Brilliant." Draco said, running his hands smugly over his chest before grasping Weaslette (Ginevra, he might as well call her that) by the wrist. "Tonight is MuscleWizard Night. I haven't been there in so long."

"What?" Ginevra stumbled after him; a few students making their way up to the Gryffindor Tower jumped out of the way as Draco literally skipped down the stone steps, their eyes as large as cartwheels in their faces. "The _what_ night?"

"Oi! You! Harry _Potter_. Where do you think you're going, dressed like that?"

Draco turned, a few feet short of the main entry. Potter was at the top of the steps leading down to the dungeons, staring at him in his leather get-up, while he had Draco's taller, more elegant frame clad in dowdy grey slacks and a jumper that Draco swore should never be seen out of the confines of his bed-hangings. Draco glared at him and then blinked as Blaise appeared to his side, folding his lips in as his dark eyes danced. Draco wanted to pout; he wanted to go over there and snatch Blaise away, and they'd go clubbing together and have a good laugh at all the drunk wizards; but _no_ , Blaise was now standing behind Potter, resting his chin on Potter's shoulder and grinning at Draco and the Weaslette.

"Hmm. I think Potter has on mascara, Draco," Blaise said in a lazily amused voice. "He looks quite hot, don't you think?'

"He looks terrible," Potter said, and pursed his lips; Blaise chuckled.

"You two be quiet," the Weaslette defended, her arm sneaking around Draco's waist and holding him close. "We're going out, and if you try anything funny, and I'll hex you until you forget which way to piss. Slytherins. You just can't _trust_ them, can't you, Harry?"

"Ginny!" Potter said, scandalized. "Are you seriously telling me that you think--"

"It's called hero-worship," Blaise murmured right into the pink curl of Potter's ear. Potter's eyes went half-lidded and Draco's annoyance knew no bounds; Blaise was supposed to laugh in _his_ ear! That idiot! "As long as it walks, talks and looks like Potter, it must be, right?"

Potter didn't answer, but his eyes were still slitted as Draco was tugged out the front doors.

"The nerve of some people!" Ginny Weasley raged as they made their way to the tall gates. "I don't know why they were allowed back into the school, after all they had done. I know, Harry, I _know_ , don't start with that 'everyone deserves a chance' thing again. But those two? They've always been trouble, and they're of no use to the rest of the school."

"Yes, they are!" Draco said hotly. "Especially Draco Malfoy. He's a... he's full of potential."

The Weaslette stopped walking so fast and stomped on the cobbled pathway childishly, her long mane of hair glinting silver in the soft moonlight. "You always say that! I wish you wouldn't; he's a snake, an awful, cheating _snake_ , and you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you didn't insist on trying to be all nice to him all the time!"

"Well, if you stop letting your little prejudices in the way--" Draco hissed at her, but the Weaslette cut off the rest of his sentence with a sharp movement of her hand.

"As if he isn't just as prejudiced, and smug about it, too. You think he would ever be civil to you in return, Harry? Do you ever think that he will ever grow up and feel sorry for all he's done to us, to this school?"

"I'm sure he's sorry for a lot of things," Draco told her through bared teeth. "But he's not the sort to go around telling the _whole fucking world_."

Ginevra sighed dramatically and put her hands over her face, before dropping them and reaching out for his hands; Draco allowed her to take them, but kept his fingers limp in her grasp as she rubbed the backs of his hands with her thumbs.

"I don't want to fight with you over Malfoy again," she said in a conciliatory tone. Draco sniffed down at her, and she rolled her eyes. "We keep doing that, and... and let's just go out and _try_ to have some fun. Okay?"

"Why are we still here, then?" Draco asked sullenly, and Ginevra gave him another roll of the eyes, this one more affectionate this time, before grasping onto his arm quickly.

Ginevra's Apparition was quick and smooth, and they were standing in front of the Blue Fairy, which thankfully, had no fairies anywhere as part of its decor. Draco's plan was to find a fit wizard and grind on him all night, maybe let some photographers take pictures of them as Ginevra looked on in horror, but he found that he was far too grumpy and tired. He barely shuffled his feet on the dance-floor as the Weaslette flitted around him, chattering endlessly. The wizard who was spelling the music into the smoky air put on some of Draco's favourite music: the tango, and he perked up a bit, watching some of the other dancers pair up and slink across the dancefloor. Pity he had the Weaslette as a partner; she was still flailing about to the delicate, quick notes.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" He heard her exclaim, and looked towards the raised entrance to see Blaise and Potter sauntering in. "This is so _annoying_!"

"Call that dancing, Weasley?" Blaise taunted as they came close; Potter's grey eyes simply ran over Draco's body. "I nearly called a medi-wizard, thought you were having a fit."

"Malfoy, aren't you out of the range of your anklet?" Draco asked with malicious sweetness.

"Yeah, maybe," Potter said with a strange smile, standing firm as people bumped into him and gave him glowering stares. "It's a good thing you asked the Ministry official to widen the limits a month ago, right?"

This Draco did not know. He inhaled sharply and let out the breath between his teeth.

"Well, I could have very well told you before," he gritted out. "So that you could have been freed of the surroundings of school _much earlier_."

Potter's expression was wry and amused; Blaise shook his head and offered to teach Weasley how to really dance. She refused, and Blaise grabbed onto Draco's wrist with his usual eerie speed; Ginevra's voice was raised in angry complaint, but Blaise gave her one of his innocent glances, and dropped Potter a massive wink.

"Here, I'll teach you how, _Potter_." He dragged Draco out into the dead middle of the club and hugged him close as people stared and whispered. "Oh, I haven't had this much fun in months! Draco, this is fantastic, how did you do it? Potter is growing grey hairs as we speak."

"I didn't do it on purpose! Wait, do you think he's really going grey with my hair?" Draco allowed himself to be whirled into the confident moves of the tango; without thinking, he began to pick his feet up in that well-practiced dance that Blaise had taught him, grinning as Blaise released his left hand and caught his right one neatly. As tired as he was from his day of speeches and presentations, he found the energy whirl effortlessly in the secure circle of Blaise's arms, to tap the toe of his boots on the ground and then kick out quickly between Blaise's legs at the proper time. Usually, he was eye to eye with Blaise when they laughingly danced like this, but Potter's shorter, more slender body was actually quite well-suited to the tango. A rapid coordinated series of steps, some more wonderful slow spinning, and Draco laughed out loud as a camera flashed in his face. People were staring and pointing, and Draco didn't even _care_. It was... it was _fun_ , almost like it used to be, when there was nothing to think about but dancing and laughing.

"You think that'll be on the front page?" he muttered to Blaise as he bowed mockingly at the end of their dance; some people were actually _clapping_.

"Oh, I'm counting on it." Blaise grinned massively, and led him back to where Potter and the Weaslette had found a secluded table; the Weaslette's jaw appeared to be unhinged, a normal look for her, apparently.

"Harry never dances," she said in a choked voice as they sat down. "I wish I could get him to dance like that... but he doesn't." She turned her head slowly and blinked up in Potter's face. Potter gave her a slow nod. "Oh, my god. Oh, _my god_."

"Great, now you believe me," Potter said in deep relief, and Ginevra's face darkened.

"You better get Hermione to fix this, Harry. I won't be engaged to... to him!" She pointed at Draco, who gave her a smug grin. "I can't believe you kept this from me!"

"I was _trying_ to _tell_ you," Potter gritted out, folding his arms over his chest. She folded her arms as well, her face set into stubborn lines. "Don't look at me like that, Gin."

"I can't help it. You're in _Malfoy's_ body, I automatically glare at him anytime I see his face." She looked out of the corner of her eye at Draco, and sighed again. "We'll fix this. We'll go to Hermione tomorrow, and we'll get everything worked out just fine."

"I think I've been having fun in Malfoy's body, though," Potter said mildly, and grinned as Draco and Ginevra made identical shocked noises. "No, honestly. No meetings, no speeches. All people do is call me _Death Eater scum_ , but they don't try to shake my hand, or bribe me into giving them money. It's the most relaxing Saturday I've had in months." He paused, and gave Blaise a considering glance. "And Zabini isn't as bad as I thought."

"Oh, there goes my reputation," Blaise said airily, and Draco pinched him viciously underneath the table.

"Turncoat," he hissed even as Blaise laughed, and narrowed his eyes at Potter. "Happy now, Potter? You've stolen my best friend away from me."

"I'm not sure Slytherins even _had_ friends," the Weaslette muttered; Potter sighed and gave her a pointed look before turning back to Draco.

" _You_ stole my life," Potter told him and Draco huffed. "You're probably going to still be in my body tomorrow, so let me tell you how my Sundays go."

"You visit Lupin's child in the morning, you play Quidditch sometime after that, and then you probably rescue a cat out of a tree all before noon," Draco snapped and glared as Potter chuckled. Ginevra looked just as annoyed that Potter would find anything Draco said so funny, and Blaise just sat there, sipping his drink and looking amused over it all. "Let me tell you how my Sundays go, and don't you dare mess it up: I Floo-call my parents at eight-thirty, then I visit with Professor Snape. Oh, yes," he said sweetly as Potter's grey eyes widened. "Professor Snape's portrait. And don't think you can get away with not visiting with him, he'll come looking searching for you, even if you're taking a bath. Why is it we have a portrait frame in the bathroom, Blaise?"

"Professor Snape," Potter said in a strained voice, disregarding Draco as he stared at his drink. "He'll know it's not you."

"Of course he will," Blaise said through sips of his drink; he had gone and gotten some long, frothy concoctions for them all, and now he was staring fixedly at Ginevra, who was pointedly not looking at him, though Draco could see the flush of her cheeks even from where he was sitting, even in the dark. Interesting. "Professor Snape is sharper than anyone, alive or dead."

"It might be nice talking to him, though." Potter's voice was so quiet underneath the loud music and Draco squinted at him. Severus asked about Potter very casually sometimes, and this always got Draco suspicious.

"Why are you so interested?" he had demanded when he had been soaking in the bath one day, after a particularly grueling session with a Ministry official. "I thought you hated Potter."

"I do... I did," Severus had said calmly from the frame, flicking his hair back from his face; the painter who had done this job had softened the harsh lines in Severus' face, painting his skin a lovely cream instead of a sallow shade, and his hair was more glossy than greasy. Draco sometimes teased him that he was quite the glamour model now. "When you're dead, your priorities tend to rearrange themselves."

Draco had made a disbelieving snort at the time, sending bubbles all over the place, but as he stared at Potter now, all he could think about was death, priorities... and possibilities.

* * *

"Have you been, er, _experimenting_ with my body?" Potter asked in a low voice as they walked over the massive silent lawn of Hogwarts, the stars twinkling down on them. "Because, well. I've been, with yours."

Draco was scandalised. Shocked. Horrified, even. "Keep your hands away from my body, Potter," he snapped. "You pervert."

Potter gave him a questioning look, before flicking his gaze to where Ginevra and Blaise were walking in front of them, arguing hotly over something. He returned those grey eyes to Draco, which were large and curious. "You have, though. You wouldn't have been able to resist."

"You have a very high opinion of yourself, Potter." Draco adjusted the warm cloak around his shoulders; Blaise had given him when he had complained of being chilly. "I am a man of restraint, unlike you."

"Restraint," Potter mused, and laughed. "You wouldn't know restraint if it came and bit you on the nose."

"Potter, shut up." Draco folded his arms and stalked off, mistakenly heading down towards the dungeons before the Weaslette corrected him, dragging him off in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower, where she woke up Granger with lots of yelling and flailing. Granger, with her hair under a scarf and dressed in a massive yellow night-gown, blinked owlishly Potter, Draco, Blaise and a complaining Ginevra.

"Huh," she said slowly as Ginevra finally completed her rant. "Well, that would explain a lot."

"Especially how you hero-worship Potter so much that you didn't know that something was wrong," Blaise pointed out. Granger rolled her eyes.

"He didn't act that much differently, let me tell you," she said dryly. Stunned, Draco blinked at Potter, who shrugged. "He was just as grumpy and miserable, and I had to drag him everywhere. And even if it was Malfoy in Harry's body all along, he didn't do much harm, did he?"

"Wait 'til you see tomorrow's Prophet," Blaise muttered and Draco snickered.

"Anyway, we'll need to do a Switching Spell. It won't take long, but the _Verto_ potion that goes with it takes about a half-day to brew. Oh, Ron is going to have a fit, his best friend was actually _Malfoy_ for a day."

Actually, Draco thought that the best part of this whole disastrous exchange; just the look on Weasley's face when he found out was going to be _wonderful_.

* * *

"I still think I'm going to be sick," Weasley said as he sat glumly at one point of a pentagram that Granger had drawn on the floor in a large room in the dungeons. Even his freckles seemed to be upset. "Malfoy? Harry, couldn't you have exchanged bodies with someone else?"

"You know my luck, mate," Potter said, fidgeting in the middle of the pentagram, where he was standing almost nose to nose with Draco. "I have none at all."

"Can we get this over with quickly," Severus Snape said from another point of the pentagram, where his portrait was hung. "I have things to do."

"Like what?" Ginevra sniped from her point, squinting at the portrait. "You don't have anything to do, you're a painting."

"That is where you are mistaken, Miss Weasley," Severus continued in that flat, bored voice of his. "The life in the world of paintings is full and varied."

"Like the time you got caught by the Fat Lady and she wanted to find some dark corner with you?" Blaise asked innocently from his spot and Severus glowered at him.

"Alright, let's see." Granger measured out some of the potion she had worked on while Draco had suffered through his morning with his baby cousin, who had changed the colour of his hair at least sixteen times in one hour. Yet, spending time with young Theodore Lupin had been interesting. The baby had spat up on his clothes and pulled on Draco's hair and tried to crawl into the Floo, but yet... it had been nice. Draco had vowed to come as himself when he could, make sure the Lupin child didn't grow up with Potter's dubious ideas of family values. The child was a _Black_ , one could see it already in the slant of his eyes and the sharpness of his nose. Draco would ensure that he understood his heritage; it might not be worth much now, but at least it was _something_.

When he had returned to the castle, he had found Potter standing in front of Severus' portrait, the one hung in a secluded corridor in the dungeons, touching the frame lightly as he spoke. Severus' gaze had flitted over to Draco, taking in his form as Potter, before looking at Draco's own body with Potter's soul trapped inside. Severus had pursed his lips, but continued to listen to Potter as he talked earnestly.

"That was the first time Snape and I ever had a real conversation," Potter was now murmuring as Granger poured a little of the potion at each of the points of the pentagram. "I think it was because he was looking at me and seeing your face. Usually he would be spitting nails, but we spoke. About my mother, and other things."

"Why would Severus want to talk about your mother?" Draco stared at Potter, and Potter stared back, and shook his head slightly.

"He knew her," was all Potter offered and Draco chanced a quick look at the former Potions' Master, standing impassively in his frame.

"Alright, the spell that witch used was a _Perceptum_ variation, according to what she told Ron and the Aurors," Granger called out, Banishing the beaker she had been pouring from. "It's a spell that should have made the recipient feel her pain, whatever heartache she was going through. Pretty strong stuff, if she had gotten it right."

"Instead, I got to live like Malfoy for a day," Potter said, looking Draco straight in the eye. Draco held his gaze and breathed slowly.

"So now you have to both concentrate on being yourself again, while we cast the spell. Professor Snape's portrait is fairly inanimate, so it will just act as focus point... no offence, Professor."

"None taken, I'm sure," Severus said in a dry tone.

"Let's start, I want my friend back in his own body," Weasley griped. Granger told them the chant, very slowly at first, then repeating it in a mesmerising mutter. The lines of the outer pentagram glowed faintly, then much brighter. Five walls of light separated Potter and Draco from the others, rising from the internal pentagon they were standing in; Potter squinted down at him.

"Feel anything?" he whispered.

"Apart from your breath in my face, no," Draco whispered back. "Stop eating so much onions, by the way."

"Living as you for a day was... enlightening." Potter was still whispering, but it seemed as if they were both trapped in a tiny room of bright light, cut off from the rest of the world. Even the chanting of the others had faded away, and they seemed to be entirely alone.

"I'd have to say, being Potter isn't easy," Draco admitted gruffly, and Potter gave him a tiny smile.

"Look, this is going to be weird," Potter warned, leaning forward.

"What is?" Draco tried to ask, but Potter was _kissing_ him. He opened his mouth to curse at Potter and his weird sense of timing, but Potter slipped his tongue in and swiped at Draco's. Draco grabbed onto his shoulders, and felt a strong case of vertigo attack his brain, setting it into a dizzying spin. For a long time, it was as if he was in two places at once, kissing and being kissed, holding and being held. He felt as if even his mind was pressed close to Potter's and suddenly he saw every thought and wish in Potter's heart laid bare. Draco tore his mouth away from Potter's, gasping with such intimate knowledge of Potter, and knowing that Potter saw everything in his own mind, as clear as day. He shuddered, his own body settling around him, at once comfortable and unfamiliar.

"You're a freak, Potter," he said shakily as the pentagon hummed around them. "Getting off on kissing your own self."

"I wasn't kissing myself," Potter countered, his green eyes, his _own_ eyes, blazing up at Draco. "I was kissing _you_."

With a startling suddenness, the glowing walls around them snapped out of existence, and they staggered back from each other as if they had been bound by something more substantial.

"What was the first Chocolate Frog card you ever got?" Weasley demanded instantly and Potter blinked.

"Dumbledore," he said slowly and grinned as Weasley whooped. "Now we'll have to come up with all sorts of codes if something like this happens again."

"I'm all up for codes," Weasley said in relief. "I'm training to be an Auror, we love things like that. Seriously, you have the worst of luck, being Malfoy for a day."

"Nothing wrong with being a Malfoy," Blaise said loyally, coming to stand in his comforting position behind Draco, chin resting on his shoulder. Draco patted his head, feeling more and more like himself by the minute. Ginevra was looking at them closely, until Draco realised she was staring at Blaise.

"We have to go," she said hurriedly as Blaise shot her a cocky grin. "Harry, please don't let crazy stuff like this happen again."

"That is akin to asking the sun not to shine," Snape said from his portrait and inclined his head to Potter, a small smile curling his thin lips. "I await our next conversation."

"Me too," Potter replied, and smiled as Snape sailed out of the frame, possibly to appear in his other home in the Headmistress' office. Potter was being dragged towards the arched doorway by his friends, the Weaslette swearing that he would learn to dance the same way Draco had danced in his body, _even if it killed her_ , Granger rattling off a list of things Potter had to do in the afternoon, and Potter turned his head, staring at Draco for a long moment, full lips parted, his green eyes considering.

Then they were gone in a flurry of fading sound.

"Nice to have you back," Blaise said, lacing his arm through Draco's. "Potter was alright, but you're better."

"You must make a jumper with that written on it for me." Draco looked at his feet as he walked out with Blaise, seeing the anklet flash with every step. A few more months, and it would be off. "But... actually? Being Potter wasn't so bad. He's not... he's not as annoying as previously thought."

"Bite your tongue, Draco," Blaise said with a laugh, before patting Draco's hand as they made their way down the dungeons, Draco licking his lips surreptitiously, wondering if that faint sweet taste was Potter's particular flavour. "Everything will be alright, you know," Blaise suddenly said, and gave him a quick hug, before entering the Slytherin Common Room. Draco stared at the open doorway, seeing Potter's bright eyes in his mind's eye before he smiled slowly.

  
"Of course it will," he said with all the hauteur he could muster, chin lifted as he stepped inside.

  
_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The dance that Draco and Blaise did is [this one](http://youtu.be/jhdCFEyesKA).
> 
> For that round, I received two wonderful fics: [**The Clay Jar**](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/37381.html) by [](http://mahoganyhandle.livejournal.com/profile)[**mahoganyhandle**](http://mahoganyhandle.livejournal.com/) , and [**A Beltane Gift**](http://hds-beltane.livejournal.com/48205.html) by [](http://juwel-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**juwel_fic**](http://juwel-fic.livejournal.com/) , which I shared with the wonderful [](http://lomonaaeren.livejournal.com/profile)[**lomonaaeren**](http://lomonaaeren.livejournal.com/).


End file.
